


Six Offers

by SurreptitiousBookworm



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Functionally Depressed Hanzo, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 17:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16268744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SurreptitiousBookworm/pseuds/SurreptitiousBookworm
Summary: Hanzo was no stranger to job offers. His sold his skills as an assassin to many, given they had the money or the cause.However, this was the first time Hanzo had to deal with a... Persistent potential employer.





	Six Offers

Hanzo stood over the body, and snapped a picture. Hanzo examined the photo to made sure all the necessary pieces were in place -- clearly showing the target was dead, with an arrow through his heart -- and sent it off to his client.

 

He stepped away from the corpse, and waited in the target’s dark apartment. As he looked out the window to the city, his phone buzzed. Hanzo glanced down, and saw the confirmation that the second half of the money was going through, and a very thankful message. His client finally felt safe again, after several long months of being stalked by this man. She texted she would breathe easier, thanks to him.

 

Hanzo grunted quietly, shooting off a quick farewell text, and stuffed his phone away. He glanced around the apartment, making sure everything was in place, and climbed out the window. He debated between letting the authorities know, just to make sure the body didn’t smell too much, or allow the tenants to find out on their own.

 

A decision for later, when he was far away from the scene.

 

Hanzo made his way to the rooftop, and looked over King’s Row. It was quiet at this time of night, where even the late night owls had gone to sleep, or at least decided to stay inside due to the rain. No one on the streets but the criminals, Hanzo mused, and pulled up his collar to shield against the rain. He took a few steps back, and made a running start. He leapt across the rooftops, landing easily, and took off. The rain slick rooftops were nothing for his prosthesis.

 

He had to appreciate King’s Row for this, buildings built so close together gave him an alternative, and preferred, road to take compared to the narrow claustrophobic streets below.

 

He was halfway to his hotel when he felt eyes on him. He didn’t slow down, instead changed course. The feeling didn’t leave, not even as he paused, looking like he was trying to catch his breath, when in reality he tried to pinpoint where the feeling was coming from. There had been enough attempts on his life, both from when he was within the Shimada-gumi and when he had abandoned them, to know the difference between his own paranoia and someone watching.

 

This person was persistent, to say the least.

 

He changed direction, going the opposite way of his hotel. It’d do him no good to lead whoever was watching to his place, and hopefully he could lose them in the chase.

 

Several minutes and turns later, Hanzo stood on top of a business office, back to a wall. He took a real moment to catch his breath, doing his best to ignore his soaked through clothes.

 

He was frustrated, and not just because of the way his clothes clung to his body. The watcher was exceptionally persistent. He hadn’t lost them once despite the turns and drops he made.

 

Just as he was about to start the chase again, he saw it. The red dot, down by his left foot. He paused, staring at it. He knew what it meant. He watched as it slowly climbed up his leg, his stomach, his chest. It stopped for a moment on his heart, and Hanzo held his breath for a beat. He wouldn’t close his eyes. He wouldn’t welcome it. One, two, three, but it moved again, up, until he could no longer see it. He could only assume the red dot was now on his forehead.

 

Hanzo stared out into the rain, breathing carefully, and waited.

 

No shot rang out, but after several long minutes, he heard the clicking sound of metal grow louder despite the white noise of the rain provided.

 

He turned as the watcher approached, and recognized the woman. Or at least, recognized the woman from the whispers and the legend.

 

Widowmaker came to a stop, a healthy distance away from him. She was dressed for the rain, from her long trench coat, sensible boots, and helmet that hide the upper half of her face. It had several different lenses built in, all focused on him, all glowing red.

 

“Shimada Hanzo,” she greeted him, raising her voice to be heard over the rain.

 

He nodded in response. “Your laser sight?”

 

“A precaution. You would not stop moving. You do not need to stand so rigidly, I am not here to kill you.”

 

Hanzo breathed in. Lucky him, he thought bitterly, he got to live another day.

 

They stood there for a time, staring at each other through the rain. She made the first move, approached him. She would speak first -- he wouldn’t break the silence out of nervousness, or anything of the like. This wasn’t his first staredown with a potential enemy.

 

She tilted her head, appraising him through her many eyes. “Talon could restore your family’s power.”

 

Hanzo blinked slowly, half to shield his eyes from the eyes from the rain, the other half to process the offer. He could almost imagine it -- being home again. Being allowed home again, without having to sneak in, or fight his way through. To be kumicho once more, and do it properly this time. To imagine the Shimada-gumi back at the height of its power, as it was under his father’s reign. To have his brot-- his thoughts skirted away from dangerous territory, and refocused. Talon was strong -- financially, influentially, and militarily -- they would have the means to return the Shimada Clan to its former glory, what it had been so many years ago.

 

However...

 

He breathed out, and opened his eyes. Widowmaker had a small smile, a tiny, smug thing. She thought she had him, that she’d passed along an offer he couldn’t refuse.

 

He took in her blue skin, transformed, and thought of all the steps that had happened to have her here. Of her legend, which started when she murdered her husband. Many notable figures killed in the following. How easily she killed them, without a thought, a concern. Just a weapon to point and fire.

 

They molded her into this, broke her. Talon had the means to make something strong, but only for their ends. If they did make him the kumicho of the Shimada, how long would that last? How long until they’re all broken once again, and created in Talon’s own image. They may do it slow, not even let the clan notice it’s happening, or it’d be a fast, messy job, much like…

 

The elders had broken him, hadn’t they? Gave him an impossible task, and found him wanting. He had done nothing but what they wanted, and he still failed. Talon wouldn’t be much different. It would end with the same result.

 

“But at what cost?” He asked Widowmaker, quietly, barely over the sound of the rain.

 

She frowned.

 

“No,” Hanzo said, louder this time, staring into her eyes. “No, I don’t want what Talon has to offer.”

 

She tsked, and her headpiece broke apart, revealing her entire face. Her gold eyes narrowed, giving him another appraising look. “You are stronger than I suspected.”

 

Hanzo grinned, vicious and sharp, refusing to let her know how weak he was.

 

“I’ll be seeing you,” Widowmaker said, equal parts a goodbye and a threat. She held her arm out, and the grappling hook shot from her sleeve, pulling her away into the night.

 

The feeling of being watched left with her, and Hanzo knew that if he could check, the laser sight would be gone from his forehead. He knew he could leave, and that they probably wouldn’t follow him back to his hotel. They would have no reason to - if they wanted him dead, they would have killed him by now. But no, after being followed for so long, his paranoia crawled up into his mind. It demanded that he stand out in the rain for another hour or two just to be sure no one else lingered nearby, in case they weren’t as overt about their watching as Widowmaker had been. And only after taking the long way back to his room could he rest.

 

It was almost morning when he climbed through the window, and locked it behind him. Hanzo stared at the bed, but shook his head, and shed his soaked clothing as he checked the room for bugs. With none found, he headed for the bathroom, and turned on the shower. He stood under the spray, set to the hottest temperature he could just barely tolerate, letting it chase away the chill of the night. He pressed his forehead against the tiles, meditating to clear his mind.

 

He let the water wash over him, breathing in and out carefully, trying to keep the past where it belonged.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo lined up the shot, breathing in. His fingers were starting to feel numb despite wearing gloves. The cold air of Russia was more than he had initially expected, but at least it wasn’t snowing today. He had a clear line of sight on his target.

 

The political figure stepped out of the car, smiling and waving at the small crowd that had gathered outside the restaurant. The picture of a perfect candidate, if one ignored the easily confirmed rumours of his corruption, which he swept away with bribes, influence, and in the most stubborn cases, force. Three reporters had disappeared over the years, on some level tied to him, each one investigating, but nothing ever came down on this man.

 

Hanzo watched as the man walked up the steps, pausing every so often to talk to a citizen. He almost missed his shot when Hanzo noticed he wasn’t alone on the rooftop anymore, when smoke coalesced into the form of a man.

 

A very familiar man.

 

If this was it, Hanzo accepted it.

 

His arrow aimed true, and the political figure was dead on the steps. There was a scream, after a beat, followed quickly by panic.

 

“We should move,” his visitor rasped out, staring at the target. He didn’t pull out his guns. “His body didn’t fall too far -- they can figure out where the shot came from.”

 

Hanzo didn’t think, just turned and ran across the rooftops, away from the scene. His visitor kept up with him, turning into smoke every so often to better traverse the rooftops. Hanzo didn’t worry about proof of death, the news reports and the arrow would be enough evidence for his client to pay him.

 

Hanzo didn’t pay attention to where he ran, only away, and ended up on the outskirts of town. He stopped on top of an old dilapidated school, and stared down at a playground that was in equal disrepair. The area had been deserted by the people during the Omnic Crisis, and it was only recently that they returned. Apparently, his target’s political rival wanted to rebuilt the infrastructure here, but was only barely winning due to the corruption.

 

Maybe the death will make it easier for them to win. Or it could make them a prime suspect.

 

The metal of the swings, slides, and climbing holds were rusted, and falling apart. Hanzo glanced around, catching his visitor just behind him, and breathed out. This place was as good as any.

 

Hanzo leapt down. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as Reaper joined him, turning into a puddle of smoke before he hit the ground, and rematerialized a few feet in front of him.

 

Reaper beckoned Hanzo, over to the old playground, and sat on a bench that had seen better days. He patted the spot beside him.

 

“Sit.”

 

Hanzo sat carefully, making sure not to snag his clothes on anything, and waited for Reaper to speak. Unlike Widowmaker, where he didn’t want to appear weak, Hanzo kept quiet out of how weird the situation was. When he had planned his day, he hadn’t expected sitting on a schoolyard bench, with Reaper slouching beside him. He didn’t even look cold, not that Hanzo could tell with that mask, but his body language and posture was relaxed, one arm thrown over the back of the bench, clawed glove just resting an inch or two from Hanzo’s shoulder.

 

They sat in silence for several minutes, Reaper staring out at the ruined playground. Hanzo looked to the sky, but watched Reaper from the corner of his eye for any sudden movement.

 

“I know what it’s like to dedicate your entire life to an organization,” Reaper said, after a moment. His voice made nearly everything a growl, but it sounded contemplative to Hanzo. “Only for them to fuck you over later. You give, give, give, and you’ve done all you could. Until there’s nothing left. And then they drop you. They mark you as a criminal to their goals, their ideals, and hunt you.”

 

Hanzo looked to Reaper, schooling his face to remain neutral.

 

Reaper looked to him, and despite the mask hiding his features, Hanzo was sure he was making eye contact. “Do you know how many of the Shimada are left?”

 

“A handful, at least. No one from the main line, with enough power to gather everyone without bloodshed or infighting.” Hanzo tried to remember their faces, but it had been years. They were never home when he returned each year, prefering to hide and maintain what little power they had, instead of face him.

 

“Twelve. Twelve potential heads, plus whoever is under them, but they don’t have the claim to the name.”

 

Less than Hanzo had considered. Maybe some had died of old age in the interim. It had been ten years.

 

“Yeah, between your brother’s crusade and you, there aren’t much left.”

 

Hanzo’s shoulders twitched, stiff, and locked in place at the mention of his brother. He should have guessed that the likes of Talon would know who the omnic-looking cyborg was before he had. “Your point?”

 

“They’re still alive, so the job isn’t done. They’re getting bolder, now that you’ve apparently lost interest, outside of visiting home every so often.”

 

Hanzo wondered if there was anything that Talon didn’t know about him, at this point.

 

“We could give you all the information you need, and you can finish the job.”

 

Hanzo stared at a point just over Reaper’s shoulder. These were the same members that they were willing to return to power, just a few months ago with Widowmaker’s offer. Now, Talon was more than willing to sell them out, to have them killed, just to get him on their side. Did they think he was so consumed with revenge that he wouldn’t notice this? Or maybe they thought he didn’t care.

 

What did Talon know about him?

 

He lost interest, after a time, when it became clear the clan would never rise to their old power again. He knew they were an old, empty shell when they stopped sending assassins after him. A shadow of their former glory. By then, it didn’t seem worth it to target them, to hate them. It was spending too much time and energy on a non-existent threat.

 

No, by then, there were better ways to expend his energy. He wondered if Genji felt the same way, given how his brother was somehow able to forgive him for what he had done.

 

“I must decline,” Hanzo said.

 

Reaper tilted his head to the side, and chuckled, low and deep.

 

“What?" Hanzo said, trying not to sound suspicious.

 

“Nothing. Figured it wouldn’t work.”

 

“... Will this be the last time that I’m approached?”

 

Reaper laughed louder. “No. Good job on that kill earlier. Very clean.”

 

“Thank you,” Hanzo wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say after the sudden change of subject, and the fact that an international terrorist was complimenting him.

 

“You would’ve made an excellent agent,” Reaper said, turning into smoke. He fell through the cracks between the bench, and disappeared. Hanzo stared at the spot where he had been sitting, frowning. Why had he used the past tense, if he said that Talon was going to keep coming? Unless he assumed that Hanzo would keep saying no, as he planned to do.

 

Hanzo shook his head, and stood up. He brushed down the seat of his pants, and looked back to the bench. That smoke trick had been Reaper showing off, because Hanzo was sure he could have just as easily gotten up and walked away. There was absolutely no reason for it.

 

With a quiet huff, Hanzo turned and scaled the building in no time flat. Time to make the trek back to his hotel room.

 

* * *

 

Dorado was exceptional this time of year, with the bright skies and cool breeze from off the coast. The sun was shining down, and the town was bustling as the tourists and people went about their business on the street. Hanzo watched them from the cafe, with his tablet open in front of him, having chose to sit outside to make the most of the nice day.

 

He wasn’t in Dorado for a job, merely transit, waiting on the next hypertrain out. One would think with a name like hypertrain, it’d be prompt, or faster, but apparently there was a problem on the line, and the transit workers needed time to fix it.

 

Hanzo sipped his coffee, feeling… at ease, for one. He knew he shouldn’t, crowds this large, while excellent at providing cover, also set him on edge. It was hard to tell who was and wasn’t a threat usually, but sitting at the cafe, with his back to the wall, and just the expanse of people around him, and the sun beating down on him… He wasn’t prone to catnaps in the sun, yet he wanted to, of all things. It almost felt like peace.

 

That, or he was exhausted to the point where he didn’t care anymore.

 

Hanzo took a bigger sip of his coffee, and looked down at his tablet, flipping through the various articles. The political rival was elected in Russia, and tore down the old school, ready to build a new community centre. He swiped the screen again, ready to see the next piece of information, but the screen wouldn’t budge.

 

Hanzo frowned, and tried again. While he knew his tablet was older, it hadn’t froze on him before -- hopefully it would sort itself out. He didn’t want to buy another soon.

 

When his finger touched the screen, and stylized purple skull appeared underneath his fingertip. The screen flashed, and suddenly the chat program opened up.

 

“hey, you should consider upgrading.”

 

Hanzo stared at the screen for a moment, and turned the tablet off. The screen went black for a second or two, but turned itself on. The chat program was open.

 

“rude.”

 

Hanzo glanced around at the crowd, then the rooftops. When he looked back at the screen, there was a new message.

 

“you don’t have to worry, i’m not close by.”

 

Hanzo frowned.

 

“i can see you through the camera, and if i can just say, the sun is doing you some good. the tan will definitely hide the bags under your eyes.”

 

Hanzo covered the camera at the top of the tablet with his hand.

 

“aw, no fair. my one weakness.”

 

Typing one handed was a little awkward, but Hanzo made do. “Who are you?”

 

“wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

“That is why I asked.”

 

“... you’re less fun than gabe.”

 

Hanzo frowned. Who the hell was that?

 

“I ask again, who are you?”

 

“just someone with some information. information that you might be interested in.”

 

Before he could answer, the chat program disappeared, and a new browser opened, showing him a still image of his brother fighting a squad of people. This was recent, assuming that the timestamp on the picture wasn’t forged, but his brother was in his new omnic-like body. Hanzo frowned for a moment, wondering when Genji had decided on that appearance.

 

The picture disappeared, replaced with another one. A news report, one he remembered reading, about how a group of vigilantes had stopped someone stealing some research from a lab. This was followed by more pictures, of his brother, of Tracer, and even a giant gorilla fighting people in a lab -- the one mentioned in the article.

 

This continued on, article, after story, after pictures that no one had a right to have, unless they either stole it from the source or were there themselves to take it. They all followed his brother, and what he had been up to since they last spoke in Hanamura several months ago.

 

When he had told him to pick a side.

 

Hanzo stared at the last photo, dread finally setting in his stomach. Any good mood he had before had been slowly drained away with each new photo, until this one.

 

It wasn’t Genji doing any sort of fighting. Instead, it was a photo of his brother walking down a busy street, just like the one Hanzo was on now, with an omnic who only wore pants floating beside him.

 

Had they not seen who had taken this? Had his brother grown so lax?

 

The photo disappeared, replaced with a new one. One that made Hanzo’s shoulders crawl up to his ears, wanting to shield himself from an unknown attacker. He could barely breathe, and his eyesight blurred. He knew on some level that he had to stop, to keep from the others around him from noticing, to gather himself, to calm, but Hanzo couldn’t find the focus.

 

It was Genji smiling. Without the mask covering his features, Hanzo saw the man he had grown to become, and how he had changed. Scars littered his face, he grew a small beard -- Hanzo remembered a younger Genji, desperate to grow any sort of facial hair -- and his eyes were older. Much like when they had met in Hanamura, several almost a year ago now.

 

His smile was the same, though. Hanzo knew how to recognize it, even after having not seen it in a very, very long time.

 

Did his friend -- it could only be a friend that Genji was smiling at -- know that their phone had been compromised? Did they know that danger they were putting themselves in? The Shimada-gumi may be a shadow of what it once was, but Overwatch certainly had enemies. Genji always had enemies.

 

He looked away from the screen, staring off into middle distance, over top of the heads of the tourists as they bustled by. Hanzo breathed in, and out, counting as he went to try and calm himself. Once he was sure, he turned back to the tablet, and pulled up the chat window. He didn’t need to look at the photos any longer.

 

There was already a message waiting for him.

 

“it’s been awhile since you’ve seen him, huh?”

 

“Are you blackmailing me.”

  
“not necessarily. if you join us, we’ll give you all the information you need to keep tabs on him, to keep him safe, you know? he could get into all sorts of trouble without someone watching out for him. sounds like the perfect job for a big brother.”

 

“This sounds like blackmail.”

 

“ugh, even worse than gabe. think about it at least?”

 

“No.”

 

“no?”

 

“My answer still stands. No, I don’t want to join your organization.”

 

“oh well. nice talking to you, shimada. you should consider seeing a doctor, your legs look like they could use a check up. or you could use more sleeping pills.”

 

Hanzo frowned as the purple skull disappeared from his screen, the chat program shut down, and all the pictures of Genji disappeared, save for the one of him smiling. It remained there, as if to mock him, as the screen froze and refused to move away. Hanzo stared down at him, blinking slowly.

 

He hoped…

 

He didn’t know what he hoped for. Was he even allowed?

 

Hanzo waited several moments longer, and the screen finally went to black. Only then, when he didn’t have his brother’s eyes boring into him, Hanzo removed his hand from the camera at the top of the tablet.

 

He realized he would need to upgrade in the end, or at least get a new tablet. He had no reason to believe that they hadn’t left a bug or three on it now, and that wouldn’t stand. He was only glad that this was his personal tablet, and not what he conducted his business through. It would have been much harder to transfer the data from that one.

 

This one could be scrubbed clean.

 

Hanzo stood, and threw his coffee cup in the recycling. One more stop then, before he returned to the hypertrain.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo’s stop in Oasis was a happy accident, for some stretch of the definition. His hypertrain had stopped suddenly at the station, and the crew and staff uncertain how it even happened, which was the exact same statement as three months prior. He sat on the train with the other passengers for thirty minutes, waiting to see if the crew could get the train up and running.

 

It was to no avail, as the steward came on the speaker, letting everyone know that they would have to disembark, and potentially find lodging for the evening should this problem persist any longer. Thankfully, the steward mentioned, Oasis was a beautiful destination, and encouraged the passengers to check out the university, or the shops in the city centre. The steward assured them that the company had their contact information, and would let them know if the situation changed at all.

 

As Hanzo walked through the station, and stepped into the bright Oasis sun, he wondered how much of this break down was actually an accident, considering the similar method. While it had been three months since the last time, the meeting still lingered in his mind. He had replaced the tablet in the next big city he had visited, but there was a lingering paranoia that the Sombra Collective may have hacked it, and was watching him even now…

 

He didn’t use it much. And taped over the camera. A low tech solution to a high tech problem.

 

Adjusting his bag, Hanzo shook his head. He should enjoy his time off. He had never been to Oasis before -- had never been given a job here. He wasn’t sure if it was because the academics here prefered to hire closer to home, or simply satisfied themselves with eviscerating each other through strongly worded papers.

 

Either way, Hanzo never had a reason to come, even for all it’s splendor.

 

It was beautiful, though. From the train station, he found the gardens. They were amazing, the flowers and plants flourishing despite -- perhaps because of -- the heat. He ended up sitting on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, under the shade of a bridge. He closed his eyes, and just… Breathed for a time. He heard people talking nearby, but they were distant, easy to ignore.

 

The birds sang, and he could hear the water from just a few meters away, over the edge of the overlook. It was… Calming.

 

He took to the shops at the city centre, but didn’t see anything of interest. He considered a trinket, for a moment, but decided against it. Best to keep to the essentials.

 

No, his main goal since he knew he was stuck here for a time, was the university.

 

While Hanzo was certain he could sneak into a class and listen to a lecture, he headed towards the library, which was free to the public. The architecture  of the building was amazing, with wide open archways that let in the natural light and breeze flow through. The shelves were almost to the ceiling, and packed with books.

 

Students, and other visitors were at the shelves and desks that littered the library. A few of them were sleeping, face down in their work. Hanzo was happy to know that while styles changed, some things never did. Students always needed sleep.

 

It reminded him of his own time in university. It had been a business degree, something benign enough to please the clan, but the minor in mathematics had been something purely selfish. His brother had mocked him for that, asking him who took math for fun.

 

University had been his first and short taste of freedom. To some degree. He was out of Hanamura at least, and in Tokyo, where the clan’s shadow didn’t seem quite as heavy in the bright lights as it did at home. They still followed him of course, and kept a close eye on their heir, but he could almost pretend they didn’t exist while in class, and on campus. They wouldn’t follow him there, giving him some sort of guise of normality.

 

He had been invited to some parties, probably by people who didn’t know who he was, but they stopped after he kept saying no. He also never invited anyone back to his apartment -- off campus, and on his own. The scion of the Shimada-gumi would expect nothing less, but the clan also used it as a means to monitor him while he was away. He knew that had been bugged at least, and while he could remove it, he knew he’d have to explain why.

 

And truth be told that they were there for his protection, should someone break in.

 

A small, short taste of freedom.

 

It was enough for him to resent his brother even more, for getting away with so much, although he wouldn’t admit it to himself at the time. His brother’s childhood nickname was true, Sparrow, as he flit around without care. Hanzo’s time at university had let him understand why Genji sought it, why he craved for it, but all that made him be was angry and jealous. Even before Genji had gone to university, he was free. And he did go to university, Hanzo remembered that much.

 

Hanzo stopped in front of one of the shelves, and picked a book at random. As he flipped through it, Hanzo tried to remember what his brother had even gone for. Business as well? Or had he tried to go with music as he told Hanzo. He remembered there was a fight, one holiday while Hanzo was home, but he couldn’t remember if Genji had gotten his way. He probably did, knowing his father’s leniency when it came to Genji.

 

Hanzo frowned down at the passage, the words unfocused. He couldn’t even remember if Genji had passed any of his classes. If he had finished university. He must have, the clan wouldn’t let him sink time and money into nothing, but it would be just like Genji to do that. Had they never talked about it during? After?

 

Hanzo closed the book, staring at the floor. When had the rift grown so large that he didn’t know basic things about his brother? That he didn’t care? Was it a slow progression like this, where he could barely remember anything of Genji’s life outside of the frustration, and grief it caused him?

 

Hanzo swallowed, and breathed in and out a few short measured breaths. Stress was for the students around him.

 

“Your prosthetic legs are very well made.”

 

Hanzo stared at the book cover for a few moments longer, caught by surprise. Usually, people had tact, and rarely brought up his prosthesis. They stared, definitely, but never asked. Alternatively, he tried to project an attitude to dissuade people from asking him such questions.

 

Apparently, this woman cared for neither.

 

Hanzo looked up finally, and looked up some more. The woman was tall, redheaded, and she had heterochromia. Wearing a plain lab coat, and with no name tag, she was probably a professor or a researcher.

 

“Thank you,” Hanzo said after a moment, at a loss. The clan had paid for the best.

 

She hadn’t stopped looking at his legs.

 

“How are the phantom pains?”

 

Hanzo rallied. “None of your business,” he said evenly. He thought back to his text conversation back in Dorado, and how the Sombra Collective had suggested he see a doctor about his legs. Was this what she was referring to? Was this woman with Talon? He glanced around the room quickly, not sure what to expect.

 

She finally met his eyes, and smiled thinly. “They must be a bother. Don’t you miss your organic legs?”

 

Hanzo stared at her. This wasn’t what he was expecting at all. Who was this woman?

 

“I ask because we’ve been running an experiment, specifically to try and regrow limbs for amputees. We’ve had significant success with the clinical trials, but we’re approaching the human testing phase,” she pointed to his legs. “And so, we’ll be looking for willing participants. Should you join the trial, you’ll feel the satisfaction of helping progress both science and medicine. And, of course, there will also be compensation.”

 

Hanzo continued to stare at her. He thought, with the general populace, one would think to lead with compensation, not the satisfaction. Unless that was simply the mindset here at Oasis, but he doubted that. This was also a poor tactic to make him join Talon, if that's what she was hoping for, but… The others at least mentioned their organization in some way. This woman simply seemed interested in her work.

 

“Also, if all goes well, you’ll have new flesh and blood legs.”

 

“No thank you,” Hanzo said, easily despite still being taken aback by the whole conversation. There was no choice in the matter, especially considering the circumstance. Even if someone promised to give him back his old legs by magic, whole and no strings attached, he would have said no.

 

The woman looked down her nose at him, assessing him. “Why not? Those are shoddy compared to the original.”

 

Hanzo fought down the urge to scoff. She started this conversation by commenting on how well made his prosthetic legs were, and now she had the audacity to call them shoddy? “I don’t care.”

 

“They can be damaged so easily,” she said, staring at his legs again. “A well timed EMP would render them useless, wouldn’t it?”

 

Hanzo knew that fear well, and while the Shimada-gumi had made sure to buy the best of the best, technology was only getting better. However, he wasn’t going to talk to this woman about that. “Biological legs can be damaged just as easily.” He did have these for a reason, even though his mind shied away from how it came to be.

 

Finally, she seemed to get the hint. She frowned, tapping her chin. “You aren’t interested?”

 

“No.”

 

“If you would like, I can give you my business card, in case you change your mind. We have many resources, and can pay you handsomely for your time.” Nevermind, she was still persistent.

 

“No.” Hanzo said again, firmly. He left without waiting for her answer, which was what he should done when the conversation started. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head as he walked away, out of the university and back to the gardens. There, hopefully, he would return to the state of calm.

 

* * *

 

Numbani was an amazing city.

 

To see people and omnic so seamlessly join together was a sight to behold, although Hanzo had to keep himself from flinching when he saw a flash of silver and green. He wondered how his brother would fair here, if Genji would be comfortable, and accepted. Surely, in a place where all were treated as one, he would be…

 

Happy.

 

Hanamura no longer welcomed them with open arms, but Hanzo wondered if Genji found a new place to call home. Overwatch, maybe for a time, or had he adjusted to wandering, just as Hanzo had done?

 

He had been alone when they met each other nearly a year ago in Hanamura, but the pictures the Sombra Collective shared Hanzo showed Genji with friends.

 

Hanzo shook his head, and scratched his neck, chasing away the thoughts. His haircut was still new to him, having it shaved in such a way. It was an idea he got when he spotted a student at Oasis a month ago on the way back to the train. It had taken him some time to work up the nerve to approach a hairdresser and allow them to have any sort of blade that close to him, but it happened.

 

He liked it, even if he was still getting used to it. He compromised as well, keeping the hair on top long still, should he ever want to hide the shaved sides. As it was, it was pulled back into a simple knot.

 

The new piercings had been his own idea, however.

 

As beautiful as Numbani was, he was here on work. An Omnic harvester was sighted in the area, trying to move into a new area rife with readily accessible ‘product’. From the research Hanzo did beforehand, the woman kidnapped omnics across several cities, and took them apart. She sold everything, from the basic circuitry to whole limbs, offering people prosthesis. She usually hired thugs as her muscle and kidnappers, and left them behind when she decided to move to another city. A criminal like that didn’t move from one area to another without someone taking note, and Hanzo’s client contacted him to deal with the problem before the harvester could make roots or a safety net.

 

The client wanted it done as fast as possible, and Hanzo could understand the urgency in the request, as well as the bonus for doing the job before anyone lost their life.

 

Hanzo stood on a balcony, leaning against the railing, trying to appear nonchalant as he ate ice cream and watched a bar’s entrance. So far, there were no reports of missing omnics, and in a city like this, someone was sure to report if that happened. They cared, here.

 

From what Hanzo understood, the harvester only arrived four days ago. It made sense that she wouldn’t have started anything yet, too early, and still in a hotel. She had to find a base of operations, and she seemed to be asking around this bar. She had visited here each day, stayed for a few hours, before leaving. Depending on the hour, she either returned to her hotel right away, or walked the streets and eyed the shops.

 

The picture of a perfect tourist.

 

Hanzo broke into her hotel yesterday to confirm her identity, and felt safe in knowing that she was his target, without a doubt. Her toolkit, hidden at the bottom of her suitcase, gave her away. The intricate make of them, as well as how well they were kept. She took her work seriously. Her choice in jewelry was one of a kind as well, revealing her identity.

 

Hanzo finished his ice cream as she walked out of the bar, looking around the street, but never up. He appreciated that, as he followed her across the balconies, making sure his cello case was securely strapped to his back. Once he ran out of a second story to walk on, he dropped down carefully. A centaur-like Omnic caught him doing it, but only asked him to consider his safety and find a ladder or stairs to use next time.

 

He thanked her, told her he would, and caught back up with his target.

 

The harvester was at the outskirts of Numbani, just before the beautiful city gave away to the flat plains surrounding it. He watched her as she approached a business that rented hover scooters, stole one, and drove off into the plains.

 

Hanzo sighed. He had left some hints that he broke into her room, but he wasn’t expecting her to bug out so quickly. She didn’t even had a bag. No matter.

 

He rented a scooter, and took off after her. Once he was outside the city, he stopped, and unslung his cello case. He prepped Stormbow quickly, and followed her again. She wasn’t far ahead, and scooters could only go so fast.

 

It wasn’t a bad idea entirely, going to the plains. It’d make it easier for her to know who was following her. However, his line of sight was uninterrupted, save for the occasional tree. She wasn’t heading for any of those.

 

She looked back at him, once or twice, and made several rude gestures at him. Didn’t stop though, so she had her priorities in order. If she noticed his bow, Hanzo couldn’t tell. She wasn’t reacting to it, just him following. Given her usual procedure, it was very unlikely that she was used to any sort of resistance. Omnics would come to her shut down, having previously been subjected to an EMP. When presented with a real threat, she ran.

 

Hanzo weighed the options, while he couldn’t necessarily catch up, he could keep pace. The scooter would run out of power eventually, and she would have to continue on foot. He would be in the same situation, when it came to that. Alternatively…

 

He hadn’t done mounted archery in some years, and the last time had been on a horse. He waited for a several more minutes, letting a larger distance grow between them and the city, before Hanzo decided enough was enough.

 

Thankfully, the hover scooter was significantly steadier than a horse. He braced himself on the seat, and stood. He took aim, breathed in, out, in, out, and fired.

 

She hit the ground, kicking up dust as she rolled. The scooter she had been riding continued on its way for a few feet before tipping over without a rider.

 

Hanzo caught up to her body, and rolled her over on with his foot. He took the necessary pictures of proof, noting her trademark jewelry hidden under her shirt sleeves. To have omnic finger joints fashioned as a bracelet was… Ill advised, at least.

 

He sent the proof to his client, gathered his arrow, and put Stormbow back in the cello case. By the time he climbed back on to his scooter, his client had thanked him, and wired the rest of the payment, as well as the bonus. They would send some people to deal with the body soon.

 

Hanzo eyed the second scooter for a moment, but decided to leave it there. Let the clean up crew deal with it. Even if he took it back with him somehow, it would be an odd sight. People would make note of it.

 

He opted to take the long way around, and return to Numbani from a different entrance, just in case someone found the body before his client got to it. It was a quiet ride, until the halfway point. Someone jumped down from a tree coming up, and stood in his way.

 

Sadly, the hover scooter didn’t have the ramming power to deal with them. Hanzo slowed down, until he stopped a few feet away.

 

The man cut and impressive figure, tall and broad, Hanzo could see why people would be intimidated by him. Even without the news of the prison break, Hanzo knew of Doomfist, or at least the gauntlet. The previous wielder had approached his father once, offering the clan great power should they join Talon. His father had declined.

 

Hanzo debated turning off his scooter. It might be considered favourable to Doomfist if he did that, showing an interest. No, even with the risk of running out of power, Hanzo left his scooter on. Maybe this conversation wouldn’t be long.

 

He watched Doomfist, adopting his now usual strategy when dealing with Talon members -- keep quiet, and wait for them to talk. He had nothing to gain from these conversations; he refused to initiate.

 

Hanzo realized how this may look to an outsider. On one side, a tall, muscular man with perfect posture, dressed in a light and airy sleeveless tunic, linen pants, and sandals. On the other, a slouching man on a hover scooter, wearing a tanktop, with his hoodie tied around his waist, and a cello case strapped to his back. Everything Hanzo owned, while well cared for, had seen better days.

 

He suppressed a snort and a smile at the ridiculousness. To think, they were seeking him out.

 

“Shimada Hanzo,” Doomfist greeted him, smiling. “I am Akande Ogundimu, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Ah. Was that how it was going to go? “I would say the same, but to be caught with a wanted individual like yourself so close to Numbani could cause me many troubles.”

 

Doomfist waved his hand in the air. “Pah, I escaped them once, I can do so again. Overwatch is not here, as you and I both know.”

 

Hanzo grunted in response, and tried not to think of his brother. Genji had been a part of the team to arrest this Doomfist the first time, hadn’t he?

 

“We are alone here, far enough from civilization. But even when you return to Numbani, or any other city, you’ll still be alone, won’t you? No matter how many crowds, you’ll still stand outside. Your skills, history, and title raise you above the common population, both as a fighter and… A target. It must be lonely, watching your back constantly, to not have the support you had previously.”

 

Hanzo stared at Doomfist, feeling a headache coming on. Was he being threatened? Hanzo did wonder which no would be the one to paint a target on his back, turned him from a highly sought after prize to another enemy to be removed.

 

Hanzo wanted to know sooner rather than later, because this was getting tiresome, and irritating. He just wanted…

 

He didn’t know what he wanted anymore, or if he was even allowed to want, but he knew what he wasn’t interested in at all.

 

“Hanzo, you should consider joining us, I think we’d see eye to eye,” Doomfist continued, ignoring his silence.

 

Hanzo didn’t appreciate Doomfist’s familiarity.

 

“I would have little to gain from such an arrangement.” Maybe, one day, Talon as a whole would get the hint and leave him alone. He had no interest in what they had to offer him, in the many different ways they had. The past, revenge, information, a future. He didn’t want any of that, or the steep price attached to it. One day, they would stop. Or kill him, finally. “No, I will find my own path.”

 

Hanzo grabbed the handlebars to turn his scooter, ready to leave and give Doomfist a wide berth when doing so, when the man spoke again.

 

“You’ll have to pick a side soon.”

 

Hanzo stopped, staring at the ground. He thought of Genji, almost a year ago, telling him the same thing before he left. He didn’t appreciate those words being echoed by this man. It wasn’t Doomfist’s place to warn him. He didn’t do it out of concern, or hope, or forgiveness. He simply wanted to collect another soldier for the future he had in mind.

 

Hanzo thought of what he could say, but decided against any of them. Instead, he gave Doomfist a flat look, meeting the other man’s eyes, and drove off on the scooter. He left Doomfist there, standing in the middle of the plains, and made his way back to Numbani.

 

Back to his lonely existence. It was nothing more than he deserved.

 

* * *

 

Route 66 was hot this time of year.

 

A dry heat, thankfully, otherwise Hanzo wasn’t sure how he’d function. Dry was tolerable, humidity was not.

 

His bounty was a curious, but sizable one. The list of his crimes was long, and all the research Hanzo did on the man strengthened the fact that this man deserved to die. Except for one source, some blogger who sung high praises for Jesse McCree. Sixty million dollars for one man though, the price had to indicate how difficult the man was to kill, given how many had tried. However, none of them were Hanzo.

 

He borrowed a motorcycle, and made it to the Route. The diner and gas station were empty -- he left the bike parked at the station. While the bike was a smooth ride, significantly better than that scooter in Numbani, it was still loud, and he didn’t want to give away his position any more than he had to.

 

He took the high ground, climbing over the mountain instead of going through the open metal doors. Who knew what defenses were set up there; the Deadlock in this area were known arms dealers, and aggressive about their claim.

 

On the other side, he found several buildings, including a garage, and an inn. He crept around the garage, and on the way to check the other large set of doors, heard voices coming from inside the inn through a broken door.

 

Hanzo pressed against the side of the wall, and listened.

 

There had to be some sort of mistake, because Hanzo was sure he heard his brother talking. He crept in further, hearing the floorboards creak under him, but the whole building made the same noises when a stiff breeze came through. Keeping quiet and out of their line of sight, Hanzo eavesdropped.

 

“I must be lucky, not only did I get a general invitation back, but an in person one?” The voice was smooth, low, and with an American accent. “Y’gotta letter that’s all shiny and gold? We cordially invite y’t’join Overwatch, sincerely, th’old team.”

 

“McCree, I wanted to make sure you were doing well,” yes, that was his brother, the modulation gave it away. “Of all the people jumping to come back, I expected one of them to be you.”

 

Hanzo had managed to avoid Genji for the better part of a year and a half after their last confrontation in Hanamura, and here he was by chance, talking to the man he had to kill. A man who had apparently been invited back to Overwatch. Something wasn’t right.

 

“Genji, I can’t. Not yet anyway.”

 

“Is it another cowboy thing?”

 

McCree chuckled. “Sorta, I just… There’s some things I gotta deal with, and I don’t think Overwatch needs the trouble I’d bring, not right now. Not when it’s so new again.” There was a sigh, and then McCree’s voice raised. “Y’can come out now, y’know. Rude eavesdrop.”

 

Hanzo scowled, wondering how he was found out. McCree had high awareness of his surroundings it seemed, whatever the tell had been. It made sense, given how long the cowboy survived with such a large bounty on his head.

 

Hanzo stepped around the corner, walking into the main bar of the inn. Much like it’s outside, the interior had seen better days. Paint and wallpaper were peeling, the pool table was listing gently to the side on three legs. There were no chairs, and there was a large crack in the middle of the bar that McCree and Genji were standing at.

 

“Brother,” Genji murmured, a note of surprise in his modulated voice. Hanzo wondered why that was, but then he remembered the major changes he made to his appearance since they last saw each other.

 

For the first time in a while, Hanzo felt self conscious.

 

“That floorboard y’stepped on? Only creaks when someone’s walkin’ on it. Sorry it gave y’away, but y’shoulda found another way in,” McCree said, smiling. It wasn’t a friendly smile, but Hanzo appreciated it. It was… Pleasant. Nice.

 

“A shame,” Hanzo said, then deadpanned. “It wood have been nice to know that beforehand.”

 

There was a beat of silence, and Hanzo had the distinct impression that Genji had narrowed his eyes at Hanzo in suspicion.

 

“Did you just pun, brother?”

 

“No.” Hanzo floundered internally. Of course Genji would catch on, he just needed to provide enough of a distraction that they didn’t ask any uncomfortable questions.

 

“So, what brings you here?” Genji asked, taking a step towards Hanzo. Hanzo fought the urge to take a step back. “This is far from your usual haunts.”

 

Shit.

 

He definitely couldn’t mention that it was because of the bounty on McCree’s head. Sixty million dollars was a lot of money, and would draw anyone’s attention, but no, he had to think of a suitable answer.

 

“I’ve been around the world, Genji, coming here isn’t far out of my usual haunts, as you say.” Hanzo said carefully, trying not to sound condescending. If he was reading Genji’s body language right -- so much had changed, but he could still read this particular expression from practice -- it wasn’t working. He sighed. “My reserves are getting low, and I was in the area. I heard that the Deadlock Gang here made a business in arms dealing. I was going to see if there was anything left in their stores for me to use before I got back to one of my usual buyers closer to home.”

 

Admitting weakness placated Genji in the past. It seemed to do so now, too.

 

McCree looked between the two of them. “So, you’ve forgiven him?”

 

Hanzo fought the urge to fidget at the sudden change in topic. Much less the topic itself.

 

“Yes, I have,” Genji confirmed with a sharp nod.

 

McCree smiled, with a little more warmth this time. “Your brother said y’use a bow. I don’t know how lucky you’d be finding supplies for that, Deadlock usually stuck with guns and other firearms like that. Bows weren’t,” he scratched his beard. “Flashy enough.”

 

Hanzo really wasn’t interested in the stock Deadlock had to offer, but it might seem suspicious to back down so soon. “May I still look anyway? There may still be something valuable.”

 

“Fill your boots,” McCree shrugged. “I was gonna head that way anyway, might as well stick around.”

 

“McCree,” Genji said, drawing their attention again. “Are you sure you don’t want to rejoin?”

 

“Naw, not yet. Won’t feel right.”

 

“I understand. You still have your communicator, should you change your mind.” Genji sighed quietly, clearly disappointed, but letting it go nonetheless. This was the fastest Hanzo had ever seen him let go of a subject. He remembered when Genji was insistent to have his way, or the last word, much to the detriment of everyone around him.

 

As Hanzo marvelled at the sight, Genji turned his attention to him.

 

“Have you made a decision yet, brother?”

 

“No,” Hanzo snapped, sharp and firm. After being asked so many times by Talon to join, it was a knee jerk response. He flinched at their reaction, a sharp ‘hey’ from McCree, and absolute silence from his brother, and breathed out slowly. Another unfortunate subject to word carefully so it doesn’t raise suspicion. “I apologize, there has been a rather dogged client who wishes to contract my services.”

 

“You’ve told them no?”

 

“Several times.”

 

“S’kinda rude they don’t take th’hint.”

 

“You have no idea,” Hanzo said, snorting gently. “But… No, I haven’t made a decision yet.”

 

Once again, Genji surprised Hanzo by not fighting it. Instead, he approached Hanzo, pulling a small device from inside his right arm.

 

“I’ve been meaning to give this to you, but we never seemed to be in the same place since the last time,” Genji said, stopping a small distance from Hanzo. He moved to leave the device on the pool table nearby, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, took a few steps closer, and took Hanzo’s hand.

 

Hanzo thought of the last time they had been this close, and felt the ghost of his brother’s wakizashi against his throat.

 

Hanzo didn’t realize how tightly clenched his fist was until he watched Genji struggle with prying his fingers apart. He didn’t realize right away, staring at Genji’s attempts, not quite connecting on the fact that it was his hand.

 

He finally let go of his white knuckled grip, and let Genji open his hand. He could see the marks of where his nails had dug into the meat of his palm, but it was quickly hidden by the device, and then his fingers when Genji closed his hand around the device.

 

“It’s a communicator,” Genji said, stepping back. Hanzo didn’t notice how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders until it eased. “You can contact me at any time, if you ever make a decision, or if you just. Want to talk.”

 

“Trading phone numbers would have been less dramatic before disappearing into smoke.”

 

“Exactly, you understand! But, I was expecting to see you earlier than now. I’ve been carrying it for a few months now.”

 

“Thank you,” Hanzo murmured, and pocketed the communicator. It was a nice gesture, but he didn’t know what else to say. Talking to Genji was proving to be difficult, so over text would hopefully be easier, but he didn’t want to promise he’d contact Genji soon.

 

Hanzo was worried he’d have to continue the conversation, instead of standing there, but Genji stepped up to fill the silence before it got too awkward.

 

“I’ve done all I needed to do,” Genji said, walking over to McCree. “Talked to you, had the good luck of giving Hanzo the communicator. I’ve got places to be, and other people to see. You look great Jesse, and I’m glad to have met up with you.”

 

“Aw, shucks, Genji. It was nice seein’ you too, glad t’know you’re doin’ well and all. Keep safe, y’hear?”

 

“Of course, Jesse,” Genji punched McCree’s shoulder, and turned to Hanzo. He simply nodded, and Hanzo nodded back in return. With that, he walked out, and Hanzo watched him leave, brows furrowed.

 

When he looked back to McCree, he found the other man giving him an appraising look.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Y’not entirely comfortable with th’fact that he’s forgiven you, eh?”

 

Hanzo breathed out. “No.”

 

McCree made a thoughtful sound, and thumbed in the direction of the big steel doors outside. “Y’wanna look at what wares they left behind? I need t’swing inside too.”

 

“Yes,” Hanzo said, and followed McCree. He was intrigued, to say the least, by this man. Overwatch must hold a special place in Genji’s heart to return to it so readily. Not to mention the others he had seen in the news alongside his brother; they answered the call. Yet here McCree was, turning down the invitation, to… To what? What kept the man from rejoining?

 

They stopped outside one of the entrances, McCree mulling some thoughts over, and shook his head. “They probably got it booby trapped t’all hell, let’s head another way in.”

 

They end up on the catwalk overlooking the road. At the end of it was a smaller, well worn door in the cliff face, which McCree shouldered open with a grunt.

 

Deadlock’s hideout was… Quiet. Eerie, in a way. Shimada Castle was still inhabited, despite the clan’s weaker influence. Hanamura would always belong to the Shimada.

 

The hideout, much like Route 66 leading up to it, was abandoned. There was a fine layer of dust over everything, from the boxes stacked high on the shelves to the semi-truck parked off to the side.

 

“Have at it,” McCree said, voice cutting through the silence like a gunshot, waving towards a room marked ‘AMMO’ across the top. “Doubt you’re gonna find anythin’, but it’s worth a try.”

 

McCree didn’t stick around, heading past the truck and towards one of the doors leading to a back room.

 

Hanzo gave the room a quick look over, just to keep up appearances that he was here for more supplies. McCree hadn’t lied, there was nothing remotely related to arrows in this room, instead favouring bullets to larger, more explosive types of ammo.

 

Instead, Hanzo explored the hideout further. He remembered the Shimada-gumi’s reports on Deadlock when they had mattered, if barely, given they were both across an ocean and worked on a smaller scale. But the clan liked to keep an eye on any potential rival or future business associate.

 

The hideout was chaotic in it’s design and organization, and Hanzo expected it had always been like that. It was a wonder Deadlock had managed to stay in the business at all, but to become a big enough target for Overwatch to take down?

 

Hanzo returned to the truck, and even if he didn’t know where McCree was, his tracks in the dust were easy to follow.

He found a lounge area first, another room with a pool table and dart board, with chairs thrown about and tipped over, as if the owners left in a hurry. On the dart board, he saw a wanted poster -- similar to the one he saw when he first picked up this job, but with a smaller reward. Probably one of the earlier ones, whereas McCree’s bounty only grew as the man continued to live.

 

He pulled it down, from under the knife that pinned it to the board, and followed McCree’s footprints to the room on the left.

 

He found the cowboy sitting on a chair, typing away at a computer. It was an old thing, given the state of the hideout, but McCree seemed at home with it. Outside of his mutterings about it being a piece of shit, anyway.

 

McCree glanced over his shoulder, and nodded. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and his hair was a little wild, like he had run his hand through it. It was… Handsome. “Hey. Take it y’didn’t find anythin’?”

 

“No, you were right.”

 

McCree snorted, and turned back to the computer.

 

Hanzo looked at the wanted poster, at the lower bounty, at the younger McCree pictured. He didn’t have the facial hair he sported now, or the longer hair. He wondered how long McCree had been on the run, or when the bounty started.

 

“They took out a bounty on you?”

 

“Yeah. S’bigger now, but y’probably know that, don’t you?” McCree said with a laugh, and kept working away at the computer.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hanzo said. It was the wrong thing to do, he knew it the moment the words came out of his mouth.

 

McCree let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I ain’t stupid, and I know y’ain’t either. I’m sure the Shimada knew what sorta stuff the Deadlocks ran, so y’couldn’t be here for just that, especially how dead they are now. There’s nothin’ worthwhile here anymore.”

 

“I do research,” Hanzo stared down at the poster, and folded it carefully. The tap tap tap of computer keys stopped. “On every contract I’m offered. Once I’ve made sure the target is… Worth it.”

 

It was a weird way to put it, but it was the best way he could explain it. They had to be worth his time, worth his skill. They had to be a black stain on the world, ranging from large scale, such as a corrupt politician, to smaller, like an abusive ex.

 

He was an assassin, trained to kill, but since he was free from the clan, he might as well do it in a way he preferred. If he made the world a little bit lighter, then… Then he felt a little less like a failure.

 

“Then I agree to it. The research is important to me,” Hanzo said, frowning. It was key to talk plainly. “I will never kill another simply because I was told to, without first trying to figure out the client’s intentions.”

 

“Y’didn’t recover from what y’did t’Genji, eh?”

 

Hanzo grit his teeth for a moment, and forced out a calming breath. “You were there with us just now. You saw how I reacted.”

 

“So, what’s this research got t’do with this?”

 

“Someone hates you, that’s the only explanation for what I found. Every source I looked up, they said you did it. There was a train heist recently, stating you killed several people and stole the belongings of the passengers.”

 

“Oh, I killed a few people, ain’t gonna lie about that. S’was Talon, they’d hijacked the train while I happened t’be on it. Bad move for them, but that’s about it.” McCree hummed, turning to face Hanzo. “I thought the passengers would’ve stuck up for me, but I guess not.”

 

Talon had attacked the train? “Perhaps it was drowned out. I didn’t find anything.”

 

“Any other cases? Maybe we could clear things up.”

 

Hanzo rattled off a few more extreme crimes under McCree’s name, which McCree then explained how it happened in reality. It was becoming a theme, McCree would be there, but what happened painted McCree as the villain.

 

It was refreshing, talking to someone like this. McCree was comfortable with himself. Hanzo could tell in the way he acted. He was certain of who he was, and his place in life, and not out of sheer exhaustion.

 

It had been a long time since Hanzo spoke to someone this plainly.

 

“So, I’d say you’re gatherin’ research on me even now. Decidin’ whether y’need to kill me or not?”

 

Hanzo blinked. Yes, the questions he’d been asking could be considered like that. It was, in a way, although not with the intent of killing him. He wanted to know.

 

“You need not worry. I won’t kill you.”

 

“Thank you kindly, then,” McCree said with a nod, although Hanzo wasn’t sure if he believed him.

 

“There was one blogger who spoke well of you.” Hanzo grasped for something nice to say. He didn’t know why, but he felt he should. “I believe his name was Joel Morricone.”

 

“Aw, yeah. He’s a real sweetheart, that Morricone. S’always nice t’have one person on your side.” McCree cracked a smile, and went back to the computer. There was a beat of silence, where McCree hadn’t restarted typing. When he spoke again, it was subdued, but loud enough to hear over the cowboy’s renewed typing. “S’kinda why I’m here. I want t’find out who’s got it out for me. The bounty started here, th’few dregs that remained after th’raid got pissed when they heard I got out scot free. Dunno how it was leaked, but it was.”

 

“And if you don’t find anything here?”

 

“I’ll move on,” McCree said with a shrug. “Got other places t’check. Seems likely, given how this piece of shit can barely cough up accountin’ reports.”

 

“Is that why you don’t want to rejoin Overwatch?”

 

The sound of the keyboard stopped again. “A bit of it. Sixty million will make all sorts of types come knockin’, especially if they know I’m stickin’ around in one place. Don’t care what sorta defenses they got there, there’ll always be someone better. S’fact of life. But… Organizations, big ones, get messy. Shit happens, and...”

 

McCree trailed off, letting the thought hang. Hanzo sympathized. It had been a long time since he had been a part of the Shimada-gumi. To give up his solidarity, to go back into something similar, would be a difficult choice to make. Even with his brother promised the moon, of the support Overwatch would offer, Hanzo would still be leery.

 

The offers Talon made him were out of the question.

 

Suddenly, McCree swore. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

 

“What?” Hanzo approached McCree’s back, and looked over his shoulder.

 

On the computer screen was a purple skull. Hanzo narrowed his eyes, and schooled his expression. He was glad that McCree was facing away from him.

 

“S’fuckin’ nearly twenty years old. She couldn’t’ve been doin’ this that long.” McCree stood up suddenly, and Hanzo took a step back to give him room. The cowboy grabbed his hat, and shoved it on his head. “She’s stalkin’ me again.”

 

“She?”

 

“Sombra. Saw her at a bar last Christmas, she could be subtle, but she likes t’fuck with me like this.” He turned to Hanzo, and smiled tightly. “Well, thanks for not tryin’ t’kill me, I really appreciate it.”

 

“Wait,” Hanzo said, mind shelving the knowledge that the Sombra Collective was one person,  and stopped the conversation’s direction. He didn’t want McCree to leave. “Could I join you?”

 

“Why?”

 

Because he wanted to know about Overwatch before he made a choice, and someone with insider knowledge, who wasn’t starry eyed about it, seemed like an ideal person to get information from.

 

Because Talon’s tireless attempts to approach him were getting overwhelming. They targeted him for his skill, but also because he was alone, he was sure of it. They made a point to contact him when no one else could know that it happened. With another person, maybe they would stop.

 

Because he knew he was going through the motions. The jobs he took were a bloody business, but routine nonetheless. It was something to keep him moving from point A to point B, because if he stopped, Hanzo was sure he wouldn’t be able to get back up.

 

Because he was lonely, Hanzo admitted to himself. He always knew it, but this short time with McCree was something he missed. A small bright moment, and he wanted to continue it.

 

Because…

 

“You seem capable --” McCree snorted. “-- and I wish to help. It would be nice to have a goal, instead of just following one contact to the next.”

 

McCree gave him a look. “... Sure. Why not, y’seem pretty capable yourself.”

 

Hanzo held out his hand. McCree stared at it for a moment, for a beat too long. “Oh, we’re bein’ official about it?” He joked, and shook it.

 

“The plan?” Hanzo asked. McCree’s hand was warm, even through the glove he wore.

 

“Find Sombra, which is gonna be a bitch and a half. Th’first step t’do that is gettin’ out of this place. Hope you got a pair of wheels, Shimada.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to become the champion of open ended stories. The kind where they're completed, but there's enough of a hint to continue. Just in case I get ideas to come back to it later.
> 
> That being said, I didn't mean to write a 5+1 story, but I did. Whoops.


End file.
